


Clarke Griffin and the Friendly Ghost

by bellamyblakesbeard



Category: The 100
Genre: 1930s!bellamy, F/M, Murderer, Thriller, cabin in the woods, dead!bellamy, ghost!Bellamy, ig, lowkey, photographer!clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 17:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10948884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamyblakesbeard/pseuds/bellamyblakesbeard
Summary: have a prompt? send it to me @ princessofassguard.tumblr.com (;----------------Clarke raises an eyebrow at him and he thinks that she looks cute, and he gets that feeling again; that if she was a part of his generation, of his time, he would’ve married her.----------------It's simple, really. Bellamy is a lonely ghost and Clarke happens to give him company.Under less than ideal circumstances though.





	Clarke Griffin and the Friendly Ghost

 

Bellamy Blake was twenty-two years old when an Italian mob member that just came in from New York shot him dead. He had just got back from a research opportunity expedition and was unpacking his bags when the doorbell to his two-story home rang. Bellamy had been living his entire life in their decently sized cabin in Pennsylvania with his baby sister, Octavia, and their mother, who had recently passed away, leaving the older brother in charge of 2.9 acres of land and his 16-year-old sister.

    It was a year and five months after the funeral of Aurora Blake when her son would get his unexpected visitor. There would be a fight, the mobster trying to break in and steal the precious family’s belongings and Bellamy defending the home with his life, when two gunshots would ring out and strike the orphaned son. The gang member would end up leaving the cabin in the woods, and Bellamy would bleed out in the aftermath of his unfaithful duel. But as he bled out into his final moments of life he thought of Octavia who was having dinner with her soon-to-be-fiancé Lincoln and his family. He thought of the wedding he would miss and the nieces and nephews he wouldn’t be able to tickle or hold up on his shoulders. But it was worth it; knowing that their home would be forevermore safe.

Octavia wouldn't find him until much later, when it would already be too late. She sobbed and cradled him against her chest while her newly-established fiancé would call for help, and she would plead with her beloved brother to stay with them, begging for forgiveness that she wasn't there when he needed her after all these years.

“O,” the older brother whispered, as he watched the scene play out in front of him. “If you need forgiveness, I'll give that to you. You're forgiven. This wasn't your fault.” But she couldn't hear him, he guessed. He had been a ghost for a mere six hours at that point, and he was still very much transparent, even though he could see his own outline.

“Octavia,” Lincoln said, nudging her gently. “The medics are here. They need to take his body.”

“Can't I have just a few more minutes?” She pleaded. Octavia looked up at Lincoln with tear-stained cheeks and a broken heart written all across her face and he knew there was no way he could ever disagree.

“Yeah… yeah, of course.” He bent down at the waist and kissed the top of her head before going through the cabin and outside to speak to the medics.

Octavia stayed though, and she stayed at their home for another several months before one day bringing a bunch of boxes and masking tape. It was a one day mission and she had Lincoln come over in the afternoon to help move her things, but once she had all the boxes outside waiting for her in Lincoln’s rundown truck, she stopped and looked right at the distinct outline of Bellamy, or at least the ghost of Bellamy, and tilted her head. “Goodbye, big brother.”

“Bye, O,” her brother replied, sporting a grim smile. If she saw him, she didn't say anything, and God knows Octavia would've said something. “May we meet again.”

Even though the deed was in Bellamy’s name and then in Octavia’s, Bellamy assumed she didn't sell the house. No one else has stepped foot in their home in years and apart from her not selling it, he doesn't think that there's an actual reason as to why someone wouldn't buy the property if they had the chance. Sure the paint is peeling in some places and there's a musk smell to some of the rooms now, but overall life has treated this cabin much better than it has treated the Blakes.

Apart from the building, there's beautiful flowers growing outside, even though they may be putting up a fight with the untrimmed weeds, and there's a ton of land surrounding the cabin. Bellamy is positive that those are good selling points, especially with how _much_ land comes with the cabin. Once upon a time he used to bicker with his mom with trying to start a farm, but she always said that it was too much work for someone of his age and by the time he was old enough so that the workload wouldn't be a burden, he was off with his research opportunities.

Now, looking back at the decision of not getting a farm, it was probably the right one. Aurora would've still died and eventually he might've as well and then Octavia would've had more stuff to take care of. He's glad they didn't do the farm; it would've just been another burden for someone else to carry.

Though he doesn't mind being alone much. Bellamy is perfectly content with his books that he has read a thousand times, but they still bring him enjoyment all the same. There’s an old copy of _The Iliad_ sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter that he has only touched a numbered of times within the past few decades, a few poetry books, and a copy of _The Odyssey_ sitting open beside him. A wave of gratefulness washes over him as he realizes that part of him is glad that when Octavia was moving, she didn't try very hard to uproot his belongings and find his books, but he knows that with some of the stuff — like his clothes — she took and donated some to charity while with the rest that she did find, like a conch cell the Blake siblings found one time while exploring the islands on the coast of Florida or other mementos, he assumes that she kept it for herself just so that she had something to hold onto that would help her remember him.

Everyday, though, he hopes that she'll come back and she'll finally be able to see him and realize that he's been trapped here for all these years. But then she might feel guilty for leaving him here in the first place and then he'll have to comfort her by telling her that she needed to go live her life instead of being in a blanket of death. So it might be best if she doesn't come after all, though he's sure there's not even a chance of her to anymore. He used to think she would come after a couple of months, but then those months turned into years and the years turned into decades and Bellamy’s hope was diminished.

It's lonely and boring, and he's not sure what his purpose is, staying here, but he hopes he figures it out soon. Not that he minds living here for all of eternity, but he'd much rather move on into the “next life” or into that “better place” some people thought so high of.

He’s gazing out of one of the cracked windows one afternoon, thinking on how much it might drain him to try to change the glass panel out, when a flash of gold and brown walk pass. Laughter fills the silence and he’s intrigued, not having seen a human in so long, let alone two.

“Raven,” the blonde laughs. “C’mon. Let’s finish this and go, before it gets dark.”

“Hold your horses, Griffin,” the brunette replies. “There’s plenty of light left in the day. Besides, it’s not like someone is gonna know we’re out here and if they did, and they tried to attack, I could hit ‘em with my boot and they’ll be begging for mercy,” she laughs. It wasn’t until she said something that Bellamy noticed that she walked with a limp. Her left leg was veiled with a brace that was far too advanced to be from his generation. Suddenly a dull, aching feeling filled his chest, making him think about Octavia and if it’s been so long that technology has advanced this much, he wondered if she was still around to see it.

The two girls walk out of earshot after he hears soft clicking noises, and he hmphs, wondering why there were trespassers, not that he minded, of course, on his land. _Strange,_ he thought. Bellamy doesn’t see them again for the rest of the night, but the next morning he sees a familiar flash of blonde.

“Oh, it’s you,” he mumbles to himself as he peers out the window. Though yesterday she seemed calm and sturdy, today she seemed to be a rush. There was a distant scream. “What the hell,” he continues. Bellamy gets a better view and he realizes that the girl is _running_ and that there is a man following not far behind. “Shit.”

She’s running towards the door and he meets her there, unlocking said door and her opening it nearly as soon as he does. The girl stops in her tracks for a split second, staring at him, before slamming the door shut behind her. “There’s a maniac out there,” she pants, locking the door. “We have to call for help.”

“Woah, woah, slow down there, princess. What’s going on? Besides, I can’t exactly do that.”

“Well why not?” The girl peers at him with a look that could kill and he knows that she thinks he might attack her too.

“Well there’s no electricity out here… And I’m not exactly alive.” Bellamy was more solid than translucent now but he can still make himself transparent, so he covers her hand with his own and focuses.

“What are you doing?” And she begins to flinch away from him, but ends up allowing him to touch her, watching in confusion as he makes her hand disappear. “How did you..” The girl trails off.

“We don’t have…. _You,”_ he corrects. “You don’t have time for this. Come on.” Bellamy makes their hands visible again and he leads her through the house, but before long there’s rumbling against the door, a clear indicator that the man is outside and is trying to come in. “Please don’t freak out. Let me try something.” He wraps her up in her arms and makes them transparent, trying to make it so that the girl is completely hidden. “Shhh.” The girl listens to his instructions but goes stiff in his arms as the banging continues. The ‘maniac’ clearly wasn’t giving up.

The man breaks in then, snapping the screws out of the lock, and walks through the house, swinging something in his arms. It was clear that the man was not offering a nice place to stay to the young traveler, though she looked no older than Bellamy did when he died. The attacker moves upstairs, and Bellamy moves away from the girl. “What’s your name?” He asks as they come back into vision.

“Clarke. What’s yours?” She’s at least a head shorter than he is, but she looks like she would put up a wicked fight. _Clarke_ , he tries on his own tongue. Her name feels familiar and she looks like how home used to feel.

“Bellamy.” He supplies, turning away from her and trying to get the feeling he had wash over him to go away. This was no situation to feel anything but panic, fear and nerves. They spoke in hushed tones, making sure that the man wouldn’t turn around and hear them over his thrashing around. “How long has he been following you?”

“Not very, but it feels like hours.” The girl -- Clarke -- looks around anxiously, clearly not feeling comfortable talking to a ghost, but there aren’t other options as far as help goes. There’s a single telephone line running to the cabin, but the electricity bill hasn’t been paid in nearly a century, so it’s safe to assume she can’t call for help. “If I run he’s just going to follow me, won’t he?”

“Probably. And it’s not like I can call the police, but I can offer you a better solution.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow at him and he thinks that she looks cute, and he gets that feeling again; that if she was a part of his generation, of his time, he would’ve married her.

“Just follow me.” And he leads her to the living room where there’s a hole in the wall behind the couch, and he pushes it back for her, revealing his plan. Clarke seems to catch on and she crouches down, crawling inside and peering up at him with big blue eyes. “I’ll be back in a bit. I’ll try to get rid of him.”

“Don’t get hurt,” she whispers, bringing her knees up to her chest and looking small.

“I’m not worried about that; I’m dead. He can’t hurt me,” he smirks, pushing the couch back enough to hide her, but not enough to crush her.

Over the years Bellamy has gotten stronger with his ghost-like abilities and he has been able to make things transparent or visible again, but he hadn’t tried anything bigger or more complex like a human until Clarke came along. However, his lack of practice on humans didn’t stop him from being able to change his own presence. With so much of a thought he could be visible and with another he wasn’t, so when he heard the ‘maniac’ coming back down the stairs he turned himself invisible with ease, planning on scaring the intruder.

The man that was chasing Clarke was older than both of them, looking as if he was in his late 30s or even early 40s. He wasn’t taller than Bellamy and in an actual fight he probably wouldn’t have a chance at all. The man wasn’t heavy but he wasn’t skinny either. All in all he probably weighed maybe 170 pounds and Bellamy knew that if he hit the man he would go down.

Instead of that though, he simply appeared in front of him, grabbing the collar of his shirt and slamming him against the wall. “Get the hell out of my house,” he growled, his voice dropping an octave or two lower.

The man’s face drained all color completely and as soon as Bellamy dropped him, he bolted for the door, not so much bothering to close it behind him. Shaking his head, Bellamy follows and closes the door before going back to free Clarke.

He pushes the couch out of the way, which is a lot harder for him considering the insane energy drop, and looks down at her, gazing at her as she peers back up at him with her blue eyes.

“Is he gone?” She asks, sounding so much more vulnerable than she should.

“Yeah,” Bellamy reassures, watching her scramble to get up. “Yeah, he’s gone.”

“Thank God,” she laughs shakily, running a hand through her hair -- a nervous tell.

“Why were you even out here to begin with?” Bellamy asks suddenly, turning away from her. It was something that has been lingering in the back of his mind ever since he first saw her and Raven, and he just couldn’t let the thought escape his mind. He simply kept thinking and asking himself why someone would want to come out to a cabin nearly completely surrounded by woods and 30 minutes away from the nearest _anything_ really.

“Raven, the girl I came here with the other day, and I are actually a part of a magazine company and we were out here taking pictures of your cabin. It wasn’t suppose to last as long as it did, and I guess I was in so much of a rush that I blurred some of the pictures. But the ones I took that _were_ blurry had such a lovely angle that I wanted to come back and try to recreate it so it wouldn’t go to waste. I stopped at a farm that isn’t far from here, and that’s when the psycho came after me.”

Bellamy accepted this as an answer but simply asked another question in turn. “If you don’t mind me asking.. What year is it?”

Clarke’s eyebrows knitted together for a split second before her normal facial expression took over her features again. “2017. Why? How long have you been here?”

“Christ,” he sighs, rubbing a hand down one side of his face. _64 years.._ Bellamy thought. It wasn’t likely that Octavia had made it to 40 let alone 78.

“What’s wrong? Had an old lover you left behind?” Clarke teases, but at Bellamy’s sullen expression, she drops the act. “You actually left someone behind?”

“My sister,” he mutters. “I died when she was 17 and I know she lived well with her boyfriend, or fiancé, or husband, but I don’t know if.. _When_ ,” he corrects,” she died.”

Clarke remains quiet for a while before piping up, “What was she like?”

    While they both know she can't stay for long, they still talk for a while. Bellamy tells her everything he knows and remembers about Octavia and in return she talks about her father and how she lost him in a car accident because of a drunk driver.

    “Oh, look,” Clarke interrupts her own thought. “The crazed murderer left his cell phone.” Her tone was lighter than someone in her position should be, but she seemed at least somewhat put together. “There’s one bar, but I think I’m going to try to call for help. He couldn’t have gotten that far, could he?”

    “Not unless he went back to his house, but I’m assuming he’s still at least a little shaken up at the fact that ghosts are real,” Bellamy supplies, earning a laugh from Clarke.

    “Alright then, well I’ll be right back,” she raises the phone and steps out onto the porch. From where he was seated he could see her just fine and he could distinctly hear her through some of the broken glass. He heard her describe the situation and rattle off the address, but specifically leaving out Bellamy the Ghost, and he doesn’t blame her. They’d probably write her off as crazy and not help, leaving the murderer out and about, free to snatch others.

    Within a few minutes she’s back inside and she’s locking the cell phone, the screen going black. “They said it would be about ten minutes since it wasn’t an immediate call, but they’re still coming to try to track him down and such.”

    “Better now than it was in my time,” Bellamy chuckles. “The common workman would leave the emergency doors locked because he was afraid we would try to leave our jobs early.” He shakes his head, looking away. “It was a mess, and murderers like that guy prove that it hasn’t gotten that much better, in all reality.”

    They make hopeless small talk for a few more minutes only to switch to telling a few jokes, but during one of Clarke’s outburst of loud laughter, they missed the door creak open, and as she continued to laugh at Bellamy’s horrible joke, the lights in her eyes dimmed as the air was filled with a vibrant ring of a shot.

    The man immediately left as the sound of wailing sirens came and filled the silence, but Bellamy simply sunk to the floor, grasping at Clarke, trying to find _something_ to prove to him that she was still there with him. He muttered hopeless ‘no’s dozens of times as he tried feeling for a pulse, but it was useless. His hands were shaking and gliding right through her as he was too upset to focus properly.

    Bellamy wasn’t able to feel emotions as strong as he was able to when he was alive, but there was still a dull aching feeling settling in his chest as he wondered if this was the beginning of how Octavia felt.

    He wondered how many months of darkness she endured because of his passing and if Lincoln's presence helped her at all, or if it didn’t and her depression was simply a prelude to her end.

    _No,_ he thought. There was still hope within him that she was alive, and hell, even as Clarke laid dying in front of him showing how cruel life truly is, he knew that she was still alive even though there was no way he would be able to find out for sure.

    He was tied to this house for whatever reason, maybe for the sheer fact that Octavia _was_ alive, and she wasn’t home; but, he would never hold it against her.

    “Clarke,” he mumbles, trying again and again to touch her, to hold her, to _help_ her. “C’mon, Clarke. This was my end, it can’t be yours,” he offers as a half-joke. There was a slight response from her, the left side of her face twitching upwards.

    A half smile, for a half joke.

“Clarke, please,” he begs of her. She has so much to live for: the magazine, Raven, a spouse, children. All the things he wanted Octavia to carry on and receive. But as he begs, the more his hope is crushed.

She’s no longer responding to him and all he can think is that the paramedics and police are taking too damn long.

He sits right next to her, nearly touching but not because of his form, with his head down for god knows how long, before there is a new presence there, and he lifts his head up.

“Clarke?”


End file.
